


Spiced Night

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer - Freeform, Drinking, Elf, First Kiss, M/M, Thalmor, Wine, bosmer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryndoril becomes Thane of the Reach and celebrates with a drink...and a certain Altmer. This is their second time actually meeting, follows "The Alchemist Meets the Thalmor".</p>
<p>Skyrim and all in-game content is property of Bethesda, not me. I'm just playing in their world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiced Night

“Ah, elf,” Jarl Igmund said, sounding slightly impressed as he looked at the bloody but triumphant Bosmer in front of him. “You returned.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril smirked, handing the Jarl the shield he’d been sent to retrieve. It hadn’t been an easy task, and he’d ended up far more injured than he would have liked, but he’d done it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Thalmor Commander, Ondolemar, watching.

“Then you have my thanks,” Jarl Igmund said, taking the shield. “Well done.”

“Is there anything else you require, my Jarl?” Ryndoril asked, being far more polite to the pompous ass than he wanted to be. Getting in good with the Jarls was a benefit he couldn’t afford to be without, though.

“Hmm,” the Jarl said, regarding him critically. Ryndoril stared right back at him, though he knew it would probably be smarter to bow his head or show reverence some other way. “There is room in my court for a new Thane. It’s an honorary title, mostly, but there are a few perks someone like you could make use of.” Ryndoril tried very hard not to roll his eyes; he wondered if this speech was something Jarls had to memorize before they were allowed to become Jarl. “However, I could only grant the title to someone who is known throughout my hold and owns property in the city.”

“Jarl, if I may,” Ondolemar broke in, stepping forward and giving a curious look to the Bosmer. “This mer has caught the attention of almost all your citizens, and even personally aided me. I believe he is quite well-known already.” Ryndoril looked over at the Altmer in surprise; his grouchy behavior the last time they’d met had made Ryndoril believe the Thalmor agent didn’t think much of him. The Jarl seemed equally surprised as he stared at the mer, but in distaste.

“Well, despite who you choose to aid, I suppose the point has been made. If you are interested in purchasing property here in my city – “

“I will,” Ryndoril nodded. He had houses in other holds already, but having somewhere to rest his head besides the inn was always nice.

Gold exchanged hands and Igmund finalized the title, handing Ryndoril his key.

“Now just make sure you stay out of trouble, elf,” Jarl Igmund finished. Ryndoril simply smiled politely; he already planned on sneaking back into the keep to see what might disappear easily, simply for the Jarl’s attitude.

“Of course, Jarl Igmund,” Ryndoril said. “Could you perhaps show me where this new house is?” Jarl Igmund rolled his eyes.

“As though I or my court have time to attend to such things,” the Jarl said. “If you really have trouble, ask the guards. Now, you are dismissed.” Ryndoril rolled his eyes, but turned and walked away. He flashed a grin at Ondolemar before he walked out, and the elf looked pleased, if startled.

He stepped out of the keep into the rainy, gray day, looking around. He had never heard of this Vlindrel Hall, though he admittedly hadn’t spent a lot of time combing the city. Shaking his head, he decided to head back to the inn; surely one of them would know where this place was.

“Ryndoril!” a voice called as he descended the steps into the rain. He turned around to see the haughty Thalmor, hood up as always, looking at him. His guards, as usual, flanked him. “It’s this way.” Ondolemar nodded his head off to the side of the Keep. Ryndoril grinned at him again before joining him.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said. “And uh…thanks for in there, too.”

“It was simply the truth, no more,” Ondolemar said. The Thalmor seemed nervous, though Ryndoril wasn’t entirely sure why. “Did you want to see your house or not?”

“I do,” Ryndoril chuckled. “Lead the way, friend.” Ondolemar gave him an odd look for a moment before turning and walking off. Ryndoril followed.

Ondolemar felt quite conflicted. He didn’t know what had possessed him to speak up in aid of the Bosmer; he had simply found he couldn’t stop himself. And then almost without thinking about it, he had followed the other elf out of the Keep; all he knew was that he hadn’t wanted to part company so soon, and that grin had solidified the feeling.

He’d thought of that grin countless times in the month since he’d last seen Ryndoril; it seemed he couldn’t get the elf off his mind, no matter what he did. He had just started to wonder if he’d ever see him again when he walked up the stairs toward the Jarl, bloody but with the requested shield in hand.

“Here it is,” Ondolemar said as they reached the Dwarven house Ryndoril had just bought. “Vlindrel Hall. Those steps there lead down to just by the front gate.”

“Thank you very much,” Ryndoril winked. He turned the key in the lock, pleased when the door swung open. “You want to come inside? Bit wet out here.” Ondolemar once again looked startled, and Ryndoril tried to hide his chuckle.

“All right,” Ondolemar nodded, motioning to his guards to follow him. Ryndoril nodded at them before shutting the door once again. “This is Cyndil, and this is Rolain,” Ondolemar added as they all emerged from an entry hall into a dining room, indicating his guards.

“Pleased to meet you,” Ryndoril said politely, flashing a grin at them both. They ignored him, and he shook his head, walking around to check the place out.

“So you cleared out another Forsworn camp for the Jarl, did you?” Ondolemar asked.

“Yep,” Ryndoril nodded. “Nearly got myself killed this time, too – I swear every time I go out they’re worse.” Ondolemar frowned.

“Are you all right?” he asked. His guards eyed one another at this uncharacteristic concern.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, looking back at Ondolemar and clearly pleased. “Healing potions. Oh, wow! I have an alchemy lab in here!” Ondolemar came over to look as well. He felt a little disappointed that Ryndoril wouldn’t be sneaking into the Keep to use that one again.

“You have an enchanter as well,” Ondolemar pointed out, looking into the next room.

“Ha, really?” Ryndoril laughed. “That figures.” He grinned at Ondolemar, who was staring longingly at the enchanter. “I guess I might find _some_ use for it.” Ondolemar quickly turned to stare at him, noting his mischievous grin, and promptly blushed. He chose to ignore the comment.

“Well, I suppose it’s an adequate enough place, for someone other than a superiorly-bred Altmer,” Ondolemar sniffed, trying to look indifferent. “My guards and I will be going, now you’ve found the place.”

“Come on, Master Thalmor,” Ryndoril grinned, heading toward a shelf in the kitchen area. “Have a drink with me.” He picked up a bottle, reading the label carefully. “Look, I’ve even got the good stuff.”

“Nothing about the mead these Nords drink is ‘good’,” Ondolemar grimaced. Ryndoril laughed.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ryndoril nodded. “But this here’s spiced wine. Evette San makes it herself.”

“Who?” Ondolemar asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow, though he looked curious.

“Nice lady up in Solitude,” Ryndoril said. “And yes, she’s a Nord,” he laughed at the suspicious look on Ondolemar’s face, “but I promise you, it’s no mead. Go on, have a taste.” He held the bottle out to Ondolemar. The Altmer looked quite tempted.

“My lord,” one of the guards spoke up – Ryndoril thought it was Cyndil – “you have business to attend to in the Keep.” Ondolemar let out an impatient huff of a breath, turning to glare at the guard.

“I am quite aware of my duties, thank you,” he sneered before turning back to Ryndoril. The Bosmer thought he looked disappointed. “I do have business to attend to. Good evening.” Without another word, he turned to stalk out of the house, his guards looking smug behind him.

Ryndoril stood there, still holding out the wine, the grin having slipped from his face. Once the door clicked back into place, the arm holding the bottle of wine fell, and he looked sadly toward the place the Altmer had disappeared.

The interaction had seemed to be going quite well; Ondolemar had been almost friendly, and Ryndoril was sure the elf had been tempted to stay for that drink. And then his guard had to get involved. He wondered if the elf ever managed to take a break at all.

Ryndoril wasn’t sure what intrigued him so much about Ondolemar, but something definitely did. He was handsome; for a ‘superiorly bred Altmer’, he had to be. Ryndoril had certainly seen a nicer side to him when they first met, and again today as Ondolemar spoke for him to the Jarl. Despite his arrogant attitude, there was definitely more to that mer, and gods help Ryndoril – he wanted to learn more about it.

He sighed, popping the cork off the bottle of wine himself and taking a big gulp. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he tasted it; he dearly loved Evette San’s special way of making that wine.

He carried the bottle around with him as he examined the rest of the house more closely. He wondered if he might be able to convince Ondolemar to come by and use the enchanter once in a while. The thought made him smile.

*****

Several hours later, Ryndoril had found the washroom – complete with bathtub and steam pipes, thanks to the Dwemer – and taken a long, hot bath…a luxury he rarely got. He was usually lucky to be able to wash up in a washbasin. 

After that relaxation, he took his pack and went into the room with the alchemy lab, settling in to organize his ingredients. He enjoyed having the alchemy lab like this; his other homes did not have such a feature, so it was a nice surprise for him.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Ryndoril groaned, getting up from his position on the floor to go answer it. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone at the moment, and had been thoroughly enjoying himself making a mess of his laboratory room. Nonetheless, he headed down the entry hall and opened the door.

“Ondolemar,” he said in surprise upon seeing the Altmer. “Hi.”

“May I come in?” Ondolemar asked, sounding quite anxious. Ryndoril saw he was drenched; he wondered how long the mer had been out in the rain that was still pouring down.

“Of course, come on,” Ryndoril said quickly, standing aside. He looked around, but didn’t see the two guards. He shut the door, then turned to Ondolemar, who looked nearly terrified. “Everything all right?” Ryndoril asked, concerned.

“I – yes – of course it is,” Ondolemar said, ending up sounding like his usual, haughty self. Ryndoril gave him a friendly smile.

“Well, come on in, then,” Ryndoril said, motioning the mer into the room proper. “You’re soaked.”

“It’s still raining,” Ondolemar said defensively.

“So I saw,” Ryndoril said. “So…you…need something?”

“I just…I wondered if that offer for a drink was still open,” Ondolemar asked, his tone much more unsure than usual. Ryndoril’s face split into a grin.

“Of course!” he said enthusiastically. Ondolemar looked relieved, and Ryndoril was thrilled to even see the corners of his mouth turn up a little. “Listen – I’ve got some extra clothes in the bedroom, if you want to put on something drier.” Ondolemar frowned.

“I hardly think anything in this house would be suited to – “ he began, but Ryndoril laughed and cut him off quickly.

“Oh, quit being all superior,” Ryndoril grinned. “Look, I know you’re an Altmer, and I know you’re better than everyone. I’m the only one here – I won’t tell anyone that some inferior cloth graced your perfect skin.” Ondolemar flushed again; Ryndoril seemed to be very good at making the mer wrong-footed, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

“I do not appreciate being mocked,” Ondolemar muttered. Ryndoril’s expression softened.

“I’m not mocking you,” he assured the Altmer. “Just – go ahead and change. I promise I won’t tell anyone, and you’ll be more comfortable.” Ondolemar considered for a moment.

“Thank you,” he finally said, heading toward the bedroom. “I…appreciate it.”

He walked into the bedroom, going into the dresser; it was filled with finer clothes than he had anticipated. Removing his soaked Thalmor robes, he changed into a fine tunic and nice trousers, wondering for a moment what had ever come over him.

Hardly anyone ever saw him out of his uniform, and he barely knew this mer. Really, though, it was his own fault; he was he one who’d run out of the Keep as soon as his guards would leave him alone, and he was the one who’d stood outside the door to Vlindrel Hall for a full five minutes before gaining the courage to knock. He’d gone through all of that, and he wasn’t going to back out now. He wanted to get to know this mer, and he was damn well going to do it.

“Still want to try the spiced wine?” Ryndoril called.

“Yes,” Ondolemar replied decisively, coming out of the bedroom. He felt a bit self-conscious without his fully-covering robes and hood.

“Excellent, because there’s a lot of it,” Ryndoril laughed, turning to the Altmer with a bottle in each hand. He stopped for a moment as soon as he set eyes on Ondolemar.

“What?” Ondolemar asked, affronted at the surprise in Ryndoril’s eyes.

“N-nothing,” Ryndoril replied. In truth, he was shocked at the image of the Thalmor without his robes; Ryndoril had been sure Ondolemar was quite handsome, but it had never been more apparent than seeing him in the fine black trousers and deep forest-green tunic contrasting with flowing golden hair. He felt that Ondolemar was already on-edge enough at the moment, however, and it would be a bad idea to tell him that. “Uh…sorry. Here,” he added, holding out one of the bottles of wine. 

Ondolemar took it, still eyeing Ryndoril suspiciously. After he took a drink, his own eyes widened in surprise.

“This is delicious,” he admitted.

“Told you,” Ryndoril grinned. “Knew you’d like it if you tried it. Come on,” he added, motioning the other mer over to the chairs by the fireplace. “So how’d you ditch the guards?” Ryndoril asked as they sat down. Ondolemar frowned at him.

“They are not a nuisance to be gotten rid of,” he said defensively. “They are charged with my life, and keeping others from taking it.”

“Fair enough,” Ryndoril nodded. “But should they be telling you what to do?”

“They were quite right,” Ondolemar said. “I had things to take care of.”

“So why’d you come back without them?” Ryndoril grinned knowingly.

“I – I just – “

“Relax,” Ryndoril laughed. “You don’t have to impress me, and you don’t have to act around me.”

“I’m not acting,” Ondolemar sneered. “If you’re going to insult me – “ Ryndoril sighed.

“Just…drink,” he said, shaking his head. “Loosen up, elf.”

Ondolemar sighed as well, bringing the wine to his lips once more. He had to admit, as defensive as he was, the idea of ‘loosening up’ a little was appealing. Simply being able to relax…and in the company of the cheerful Bosmer he had been thinking about for a solid month, too.

“I presume I didn’t wake you,” Ondolemar finally asked, trying to return to normal conversation.

“Nah,” Ryndoril said. “Just going through my potion ingredients, getting set up.”

“Ah,” Ondolemar said, looking worried. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…should I…”

“No, no!” Ryndoril said quickly. “Not at all – I’m glad you came back.” He loved how he could see the pink tinge to Ondolemar’s cheeks more clearly without his Thalmor hood on.

“Would you…ah…like any help?” Ondolemar offered, seemingly to the surprise of both of them.

“You know much about alchemy?” Ryndoril asked curiously.

“Er…a bit of wheat and blisterwort make a healing potion,” Ondolemar suggested. Ryndoril managed not to laugh; it was a very basic recipe that any beginner alchemist knew, but he knew Ondolemar was being quite serious. In any case, it was hardly fair to laugh at the mer for only basic knowledge of alchemy when he himself knew nothing at all about enchanting.

“True,” Ryndoril grinned. “That’s all right, though – I’ve got my own way of doing it. I’ll get to it later.”

“Where did you learn alchemy?” Ondolemar asked. Ryndoril smiled; he appreciated the other mer’s attempt to hold a conversation, instead of turning superior or shying away.

“Back home in Valenwood,” Ryndoril explained. “My aunt was an alchemist.”

“I thought the wood elves were not allowed to use plants from Valenwood for anything?” Ondolemar said.

“No, but a lot can be done with pieces from animals, too,” Ryndoril said. “And we lived near the border – we sometimes got travelers, and mostly trade. It isn’t that we can’t use plants…just that we can’t harm our own land to get them.”

“I see,” Ondolemar said, sounding genuinely interested. It made Ryndoril feel warm and content to have someone interested in talking with him this way. “So what brought you to Skyrim?”

“More opportunity,” Ryndoril said. “My aunt passed away, and I didn’t have anyone else to worry about in Valenwood – here in Skyrim, though, there were far more opportunities to be had. Dungeons unexplored, plants undiscovered, and ruins undelved. Of course, if I’d paid more attention to this ridiculous war, I might not have come,” he added dryly. Ondolemar snorted.

“I understand,” Ondolemar nodded. “These ridiculous rebels.”

“They were some of the first ones I met,” Ryndoril said. “Band of those Stormcloaks. Almost got my head chopped off in Helgen.” Ondolemar gave him an odd look.

“Helgen!” Ondolemar finally exclaimed. “You were at Helgen. I knew you looked familiar.”

“Yes, I was,” Ryndoril said, looking at Ondolemar curiously. “How did you know that?”

“I was there, too,” Ondolemar said. “Part of the Thalmor delegation, at the request of the Ambassador. You were the stranger, weren’t you? The one they grabbed up with the rebels.”

“I was,” Ryndoril said. “And you’d have thought, just going by the way those Nords kept glaring at me, they would’ve had the sense to understand I wasn’t one of the rebels myself. But apparently it wasn’t good enough.”

“That Captain was an idiot,” Ondolemar nodded his agreement, taking another drink. “Ridiculous woman.”

“I saw her corpse when I was fleeing,” Ryndoril smirked. “Made me feel a bit better.” Ondolemar let out a short laugh, and Ryndoril couldn’t help but grin at the sound – it was lovely, and he hoped the mer would do it more.

“So how did you find yourself in with them anyway?” Ondolemar asked. “Obviously you weren’t part of their camp.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryndoril snorted. “As though Ulfric Stormcloak would’ve done anything but kill me himself. No, I was passing by right as the ambush happened. Got tangled up in it, bashed in the head, woke up in a cart with my hands bound. And then saved by a dragon,” he added with a laugh.

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said. “Though the rest of us weren’t quite as grateful for the beast’s appearance.”

“If the axe hadn’t been an inch from my neck, I wouldn’t have been, either,” Ryndoril smirked. “But it all worked out. We survived, eh?” Ryndoril noticed the Altmer had drained his bottle of wine already. “Want another?”

“Yes, actually,” Ondolemar said, looking surprised that it was gone already. “That was quite good.”

“One of the best,” Ryndoril laughed. “My favorite drink.” He handed Ondolemar another bottle. “What about you – what’s your favorite?”

“Colovian Brandy,” Ondolemar answered, uncorking the new bottle of wine and bringing it to his lips.

“Ah, yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. “I’ve had that once or twice.”

“Rare to come by it here,” Ondolemar said. “The Ambassador always serves it at her parties, though.”

“Parties?”

“Oh, she holds parties once a month,” Ondolemar said, rolling his eyes. “Says it’s to improve relations with the Nords, but it’s really to keep an eye on those in power.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril nodded. “I’d expect nothing less.”

“It’s an obligation I’d rather not be required to fulfill,” Ondolemar admitted, “but it could be worse.”

“Yeah, there could be Stormcloaks there,” Ryndoril grinned, and was pleased to get another laugh from Ondolemar.

“Shall I assume you support the Empire in this little war, then?” Ondolemar inquired.

“Hardly,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I think they’re all a bunch of idiots playing for power, and I prefer to stay out of it.” Ondolemar frowned at him.

“The Empire is an important – “

“Oh, stop it,” Ryndoril interrupted. “I’m not stupid, and I’m an elf, too. You care as much about this little civil war they’re playing with as I do.” Ondolemar refused to admit it, and so stayed silent. “Anyway. So what brought you to Skyrim, then?”

“The Thalmor presence in Skyrim is to maintain peaceful relations – “

“Uggghhh!” Ryndoril groaned, throwing his head back. “Ondolemar, just _stop_ , will you? Just talk to me like a real person, not like you’re reciting lines. And I already know why the Thalmor are here,” he added. “Just because I don’t care about the war or who wins it doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention. I wanted to know about _you_. Ondolemar.” The elf looked truly taken aback, as though no one had ever asked such a thing of him.

“All right,” he said after a moment, nodding. 

Ondolemar made the decision that if he wanted this elf’s friendship – and he was quite sure he did – he was going to have to stop putting on the Thalmor face he wore all the time and speak as friends would with one another. It was hard for him to trust anyone else, but there was just something about Ryndoril that he knew – he just _knew_ – it would be okay. He took another drink of wine.

“I’ve been part of the Dominion since I was young,” Ondolemar began. “I was recruited into the Thalmor not long after, shortly before the Great War. After proving myself in battle many times over, I rose through the ranks,” he added proudly. Ryndoril was smiling encouragingly at him. “Eventually I became a Justiciar. I was sent here to Skyrim – not many like this country, you see, and so it was a popular place to force upon newly-appointed members. Traveling the country to root out Talos worship let me learn a great deal about Skyrim and the people here. My superiors noticed, and when it came time to replace the current Justiciar Commander, I was recommended. So I accepted the job, and the prestige that came with it…and here I am.”

“In a city you dislike, in a country you dislike, dealing with people you dislike,” Ryndoril chuckled.

“I don’t dislike the country,” Ondolemar argued. “I admit to missing the Isles occasionally, but there is much about Skyrim to enjoy. The city and the people, however, you are correct.”

“Do you ever leave the city?” Ryndoril asked curiously. He was finding it fascinating to get to know the mer. “Travel the country like you used to?”

“No,” Ondolemar sighed, taking another long drink. “Unfortunately, my duties require me to remain here in Markarth nearly all the time. The only place I really get to go is up to the Embassy.”

“No wonder you came for a midnight drink,” Ryndoril grinned. “Well, it’s not exactly traveling the country, but you’re welcome to come here anytime you like.” Ondolemar gave Ryndoril a little half-smile.

“You mean that, don’t you?” Ondolemar asked, sounding genuinely surprised. Ryndoril laughed.

“Of course I mean it,” he nodded. “Whenever you want. I’ll even see about getting some of that Colovian Brandy,” he added. He was truly enjoying the Altmer’s company, particularly now that he’d stopped trying to be so pompous and formal.

“You are quite kind,” Ondolemar observed, finishing off this bottle of wine as well. “That goes quick, doesn’t it?” Ryndoril grinned.

“Want another?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said. He was feeling a good bit more “loosened up”, just as Ryndoril had encouraged him to be, and it was a rather nice feeling. He wasn’t so tense and anxious anymore. Ryndoril handed him another bottle of the wine.

“Maybe take it slower on that one,” Ryndoril winked. “Don’t need you passing out drunk.” Although he had a feeling the Altmer would be rather entertaining, were that to happen.

“Are you implying that I cannot control myself?” Ondolemar asked, eyebrow arched.

“I’m implying that it’s been an hour and you’ve had two full bottles of wine,” Ryndoril laughed. “Needed a little break, did you?” Ondolemar eagerly opened this new bottle and took another drink as well.

“Yes,” he said suddenly, frowning. “You know what? Yes, I did. Endless paperwork, menial tasks for the Jarl, listening to his court…it’s all very tiresome, and for once – yes. I _did_ need a break.” He sounded so defensive that Ryndoril couldn’t help another chuckle. “What?” Ondolemar asked imperiously, his eyes narrowed at the Bosmer. “Are you _laughing_ at me?”

“Not at all,” Ryndoril assured him, still grinning as he took another drink himself. “Not at all. I’m glad you’re taking a break. And I’m glad you came here.” Ondolemar was surprised by the sincerity in the statement, and it pleased him.

The two sat and talked for another couple of hours until the early hours of the morning. Ondolemar had consumed an additional bottle of wine on top of the three he had, though Ryndoril had decided to cut him off after that – the Altmer was getting rather tipsy, and he didn’t want anything to happen to him.

They had talked of their childhoods, their families, their work – Ondolemar enjoyed Ryndoril’s stories about his travels, missing the ability to go out as he did. Finally, though, Ondolemar started slurring a little, and Ryndoril decided it was time the Thalmor got back to the Keep.

“Can’t I just stay here?” Ondolemar asked tipsily after he got his Thalmor robes back on. “The Keep’s too far.”

“Your guards would kill me for kidnapping you,” Ryndoril laughed, though he had to admit he liked the idea of Ondolemar staying the night.

“But it’s late, and I’m tired,” Ondolemar said, nearly whining and leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s not that far,” Ryndoril said, unable to stop grinning. “Look, I’ll make sure you get back there in one piece, all right?”

“Right,” Ondolemar nodded. “Do you know, I think I may have had too much wine.”

“You don’t say,” Ryndoril snickered, heading for his alchemy room. He rummaged in his sack for a moment before finding the potion bottle he wanted.

“Aren’t we leaving?” Ondolemar asked, sounding confused. Ryndoril held back another laugh.

“Just a minute,” he promised, looking around for a pen and some paper. He finally found a chunk of charcoal and decided that would do, scribbling a quick note and folding it up with the potion. Ondolemar was going to be grateful to have it in the morning. “All right, come on.” He and Ondolemar headed out the door back toward the Keep.

It had stopped raining now, Ryndoril observed, and he was grateful because it meant that at least Ondolemar wasn’t as unsteady as he could have been. As it was, though, he already had to pull him away from the edge of staircases or drop-offs several times.

Amused as he was, he felt a little guilty; clearly, Ondolemar had a lower tolerance for drink than he’d assumed, and he never meant to get the mer falling-down drunk. He’d truly enjoyed the evening, but he couldn’t help wondering if Ondolemar might be angry when he awoke. He hoped his rejuvenating potion would help some, at least.

They finally reached the Keep, Ryndoril keeping a firm hold on the Altmer as they climbed the stairs. Once they were in Ondolemar’s room, Ryndoril set the potion and note down on the bedside table.

“Well, friend, it’s been fun,” Ryndoril grinned, clapping Ondolemar on the shoulder. “Good night.”

“Ryn?” Ondolemar asked, his eyes oddly focused on Ryndoril’s face. Ryndoril felt his cheeks redden a little; no one had called him that in years, but it pleased him.

“Yes?” he asked anyway.

“Thank you,” Ondolemar said, voice very serious despite the slurs. “Thank you for letting me…take a break.”

“Sure thing,” Ryndoril smiled, and almost laughed outright when Ondolemar matched the smile suddenly.

“You have a nice smile,” Ondolemar murmured, his gaze locked on Ryndoril’s grin.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril laughed, feeling a bit awkward now. Before he knew what was happening, Ondolemar had stumbled toward him, pressing his lips to the Bosmer’s firmly.

Ryndoril stood there for a moment in shock; that had been the very last thing he ever expected to happen. It took only a heartbeat for his body to leap into action, however, and he felt himself stirring even as he kissed the Altmer back, his hands going to Ondolemar’s shoulders.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before Ondolemar started to pull away, but he knew it hadn’t been long enough. Ondolemar was much too drunk to press the issue, however, so he forced himself to pull away, too.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you before,” Ondolemar murmured, looking into Ryndoril’s eyes. Ryndoril breathed out a surprised laugh, his cheeks and ears both turning red.

“Well, it was quite nice,” Ryndoril said. “And ah…if you want to do it again, I won’t stop you. But for right now, you should probably just get to sleep.”

“Sleep,” Ondolemar frowned, looking away. “Right. Yes.” He stumbled toward the bed, and Ryndoril wondered for a moment if he should help the poor mer out of his robes – there was no way that would be comfortable to sleep in – but knew it would be a terrible idea, as his self-control was already a bit compromised after that kiss.

“Good night, Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said with a final smile, heading out the door. He shut it behind him and stood there in the hall for a moment, trying to get control of himself.

 _He was drunk,_ he reminded himself. _Ondolemar had too much to drink; it didn’t mean anything. He never would’ve done it if he were sober._

 _But then,_ his mind added, _maybe it was just what he needed._

Grinning, hoping the Altmer wouldn’t have forgotten all about it, he headed back to his house to get to bed himself.

*****

The following morning, Ondolemar awoke to insistent knocking on his door. He realized his head was pounding and his stomach felt rather sick.

“What do you want?” he snapped in the direction of the door, before realizing the angry words only made him feel worse.

“Master Ondolemar, it is almost eleven o’clock in the morning,” Rolain called back. “The Jarl is wondering where you are. Are you ill?”

 _Yes_ , Ondolemar wanted to snap back. _I’m incredibly ill, now leave me be!_ But…eleven o’clock? That was much later than he usually slept. He did have things to do, after all.

“I’ll be out shortly,” Ondolemar barked toward the door. “Leave me be.”

“Yes, my lord,” Rolain replied, sounding highly annoyed. Well, he could just _be_ annoyed for all Ondolemar cared, because he didn’t answer to his guards. He forced his eyes back open, though his vision swam, and tried to remember what in Nirn had happened the night before.

He remembered going to Ryndoril’s house. They’d had a drink… Did Ryndoril poison him? Is that what he got for trusting someone? Feeling rather angry, he sat up – his stomach protesting harshly – and finally spotted an odd potion on the nightstand. Narrowing his eyes, he reached for it to see if there was a label, and saw a note next to it. He picked it up curiously, unfolded it and began to read.

_Ondolemar,_

_You had a bit much to drink tonight; I don’t know if you’ll remember. I imagine you’re not going to be feeling very well in the morning, so I wanted you to have this – it’s just a rejuvenating potion, and it should help._

_I’m heading out first thing in the morning, but I’ll be back soon. I had a great time talking with you, and I hope we can do it again, maybe with less wine._

_See you later,_

_Ryndoril_

Ondolemar contemplated the note for a moment before deciding the potion certainly couldn’t make him feel any worse. Gulping it down, he found it almost immediately settled his stomach and his aching head. He smiled a little at the thoughtfulness of the Bosmer.

He started to recall the rest of the night; they had talked quite a bit, and Ondolemar remembered the calm, relaxed feeling he’d ended up with in Ryndoril’s presence. He had to admit to disappointment, reading that the elf had left already. But…he’d promised to be back again soon.

Ondolemar got up, feeling much better, and dressed for the day. As he walked out the door, he had a most uncharacteristic smile on his face; it didn’t leave for some time.

**Author's Note:**

> It was really fun to write Ondolemar here, because he's still his haughty, rotten self but he's also very confused and wrong-footed as he begins to realize his feelings for Ryn...and it's fun to make him suffer a little!


End file.
